Run For Your Life
by follow that monkey
Summary: A series of strange and dangerous events leads to Draco Malfoy being forced to run for his life, and Hermione Granger decides to tag along. Dark Arts, Death Eaters and ancient prophecies in this tale of friendship, romance and the now traditional leather.
1. Chapter One

  
  
**Disclaimer:** This story contains characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, Inc. and AOL/Time Warner, Inc., and may incorporate ideas created and/or owned by other third parties including but not limited to Joss Whedon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
  
  
  
  
  


Run For Your Life

  
  
  
  
  
  


- p r o l o g u e - 

  
  
  
"Happy Birthday to you..."   
  
"... Happy Birthday to you..."   
  
"Happy Birthday, _dear_ Draco..."   
  
"Happy Birthday to you."   
  
Draco faked a smile as he leaned over and blew out his fifteen intricate dragon shaped candles, sending little wisps of smoke into his eyes as the sea of unfamiliar faces before him broke into even faker smiles as they 'ooohed', 'ahhhed' and clapped.   
  
The lights flickered back on and Narcissa hurried over to the table, carefully picking up the massive cake and trotting off to cut it, playing the role of loving mother and obedient wife extremely well. Draco noted his mother's fantastic acting skills and made a mental note to commend her later on actually making herself look like she cared. However, Draco's thoughts of his mother were soon vanquished as Lucius Malfoy sauntered over to the table with a champagne flute in hand and a sneer on his face, his normally perfect hair a little ruffled. Draco took in the lipstick marks on the collar of his father's robes with a raised eyebrow and a fleeting look of disgust.   
  
"Pansy arrived, has she?" he asked tonelessly. "Really, _Father_, you ought to wash those off. We don't want Mother noticing, do we?"   
  
"Don't you speak to me like that, boy." slurred Lucius, wagging a free finger in Draco's face. Draco stared as the pale length danced in front of his steely grey eyes, and he had to fight the urge to reach out and snap it. He stood up and pushed past Lucius, wandering aimlessly into the crowd of black-robe clad people, his eyes searching the room for a face he knew. It was with surprise that he noticed that many other occupants of the Slytherin House were there, and when Narcissa bustled by he caught her arm and pulled her to one side.   
  
"Why are there people from school here?" he asked, eyes flashing dangerously. He didn't want to be bumping into Millicent or Pansy and having his birthday ruined by their childish giggles and whorish attempts at seduction.   
  
"It was your Father's doing." replied Narcissa stiffly, "Every single Slytherin student from fifth to seventh year is here."   
  
"All of them?" asked Draco, shocked by this sudden revelation. It seemed he didn't know the faces of many of his schoolmates at all.   
  
"Well, those who accepted the invitation." continued Narcissa, taking on an airy tone, "Those who refused were... taken care of."   
  
She shrugged out of his grip and disappeared into the crowd as Draco rolled his eyes heavenward.   
  
"Taken care of..." he muttered, "What do they think this is? My sweet sixteenth?"   
  
  
  


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After managing to dodge Pansy and Millicent a few times, Draco was presently hiding away in a corner with his head in his arms on a table, his silver-blonde hair falling around his shoulders as partygoers wandered by, all of them drinking champagne or eating cake. As a green and silver balloon bounced off his head for the umpteenth time (his Father had also, without Draco knowing, taken to inviting his cousins who were all aged between the years of five and nine) Draco sook refuge in the hallway outside the dining room.   
  
It was in this hallway that Draco heard hushed voices and the loud bang of what sounded like crates hitting the cold flagstone floor, so he was, naturally, intriuged. He crept silently down the hallway towards the sounds, hiding in the shadows. Half of him wondered if it was a secret birthday present, the other half hoped it was the dead body of Potter being shipped to the Dark Lord.   
  
He came to a closed door and after careful listening, he concluded that there were people with boxes, and they were in that room. Shrugging, he leaned his ear against the door, which unfortunately for him was promptly pulled open. He stumbled and fell into the doorway, the hem of his long velvet robes catching the buckles of his boots causing him to fall head first onto the stone cold floor as whoever opened the door deftly moved out of the way, neglecting to catch or help him in any way.   
  
Draco struggled to his feet in the darkened room, backing up against the nearest wall whilst waving his right arm out in front of him in a futile attempt at defense as his left hand frantically searched the pockets of his robe for his wand. His hand closed around the slender stick of wood and he breathed a sigh of relief as he drew it out of his pocket, brandishing it in front of him. The unnerving silence of the room only served to confuse him causing his mind to neglect the usual reminder he couldn't use magic anyway, because it was the school holidays.   
  
After a few mintues of Draco gibbering on about how he was armed and dangerous, and warning whoever was there that this was _his_ house and thieves would be swiftly subjected to the Unforgivables, someone else in the room cleared his throat. Draco stuttered over his threats and his voice faded to oblivion as the 'other person' muttered an almost silent spell.   
  
"Lumos."   
  
Draco shrank against the wall, his sanity conveniently forgetting to remind him this was a simple 'lighting up the tip of your wand' trick, and he screwed his eyes shut, waiting for some sort of hairy beast to start clawing manically at his face or a green flash of light signifying his imminent death. When neither came, he cautiously opened an eye. For the first time in his life, Draco noticed that anything you saw with one eye was indistinguishable from a dancing penguin in grey blurry robes, and he cautiously opened the other. Blinking a couple of times, he promptly decided he'd fallen asleep in the dining hall and was dreaming, because why else would Lord Voldemort be in a little room in a dingy hallway of Draco's house with some very strange-shaped crates and two very large men?   
  
"Er... hello." he ventured. After all, he'd spoken in dreams before, why stop now? 'Lord Voldemort' would probably turn into a fluffy pink rabbit any minute, because Draco Malfoy was renowned for his peculiar dreams. He was known to awake in the middle of the night under the influence of what his room-mates at Hogwarts would call "Rabbit Syndrome", dancing around in his boxers.   
  
"Hello, Draco Malfoy." replied Voldemort, his voice tinged with an unmistakable-but-probably-not-deliberate hiss.   
  
"Why are you in a little room in my house with crates and large men?" asked Draco curiously, raising an eyebrow.   
  
"The origin of matters such as these is not important to you, at least not yet." answered Voldemort. Draco was surprised at how normal he was, considering he'd always imagined him as some massive monster flanked by armies, creeping around in the dead of night.   
  
"Would you do me a favor, my little Slytherin Keeper? Fetch your Father."   
  
Draco nodded dumbly and made to exit the little room, casting one last furtive glance at the crates before coming to the door. He was halfway out when he turned, only to find Voldemort right behind him, ready to shut the door after he left. He refrained from jumping in surprise, instead mumbling.   
  
"I... uh... I'm the Seeker. The Slytherin _Seeker_."   
  
"_Of course you are._" hissed Voldemort, a sneer appearing on his thin lips as he ran a spidery finger down the side of Draco's pale cheek. "Of course you are."   
  
Draco gave an involuntary shudder as the finger made contact with his face, sending currents of ice down his spine where they intermingled beautifully with the spasms of fear that were slowly beginning to wrack Draco's body as he realised he wasn't dreaming.   
  
Voldemort drew his finger away and Draco blindly stumbled out of the room, walking back down the cold hallway with tears pricking the back of his eyes, burning, even though he certainly wasn't about to cry. Draco didn't cry. He wandered slowly into the dining hall and bumped into his father, mouthing soundlessly and gesturing to the door.   
  
"What do you want, boy?" slurred Lucius, waving his new glass of champagne about, spilling it down the sleeve of his robes.   
  
"Voldemort..." stuttered Draco, waving his arms to the door, "Room... hall."   
  
Lucius instantly sobered, dropping the glass to the floor where it shattered into a million pieces. He hurried out of the hall, and Narcissa rushed over and dutifully cleaned up the broken glass while Draco numbly allowed himself to be danced around the hall by Pansy and Millicent, who insisted on plying him with alcohol and cake, repeatedly commenting on how he'd grown over the first few weeks of summer. Draco mumbled something about playing a lot of Quidditch while they marvelled at his muscles and dragged him over to meet their parents.   
  
  
  


*   
  
  
- s e p t e m b e r 1st-   
  
  


  
  
  
Draco leaned against the doorframe lazily, watching as house-elves loaded his trunk into the boot of the Ministry car. They fussed over it for a few minutes before casting curious glances at Draco and trotting into the house. A gentle breeze blew Draco's hair into his eyes and he shuddered as a sudden cold gripped him, whispering in his ears, sending mournful wisps of fear clawing at his heart as memories of his birthday flashed before his eyes.   
  
"_Beware the Master's plan._" whispered a voice raw with warning, sending chills down Draco's spine. He jumped in surprise as the feeling of cold disappeared, and he whirled round only to find a lone house-elf standing in the middle of the hallway, staring at him with eyes as wide as dinner plates.   
  
The house-elf squeaked and ran off as Draco shook off the feeling of dread that had started to cloud his senses and without even properly knowing why, decided to follow the elf. He broke into a run as the elf hurtled through the maze of hallways that was Malfoy Manor, his curiosity growing every passing second. What plan? Was it even the elf who'd said that? Did _anyone_ even say that?   
  
Draco rounded a corner and slid to a halt. An odd feeling of deja vu settled, and a little voice niggled at the back of his head as an involuntary shudder overtook him. He'd been in this hall before...   
  
Discovering the elf had disappeared, Draco cautiously walked the length of the seemingly empty hallway, which had no windows and was decorated with expensive tapestries and large portraits of the Malfoys. He came to a stop in front of a particularly large painting of himself and his parents, all sitting rather stiffly with fake smiles on their faces. He rolled his eyes, and resisting the urge to punch a hole through the centre of the painting, carried on walking down the hallway. He came to a large door and pushed it open, shocked to find that it was the dining room. Disorientated and left wondering how well he actually knew his own home, he carried on down the hallway, looking around for the elf.   
  
He came to the door of the little room from his birthday, and stopped outside. Should he go in? He looked around him guiltily, but there was no-one else in the hall. He caught sight of another portrait out of the corner of his eye, and the angry looking Lucius sneered at him from the ornate wooden frame.   
  
"_You'd better not go in there, boy._"   
  
Draco rolled his eyes pushed the door open, stumbling backwards as an icy blast of air knocked him in the face. Forced to screw his eyes shut as he was surrounded in a sticky, clinging fog, he righted himself and covered his face with his hands, cautiously walking forwards. After walking for about a minute Draco began to feel slightly nauseous, and the swirling fog was making his head hurt. He was just about to turn back when there was a loud pop, and he felt as though he was being sucked right out of his body. Panicking, he waved his arms around, frantically clawing the frigid air as a loud roaring noise filled his ears and his head pounded in time with the frenzied beating of his heart. His attempts to grab onto anything solid were all in vain, and he succumbed to the darkness as his vision faded to black.   
  
  
  


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"Urrrr." mumbled Draco, struggling to open his heavy eyelids. Something was stuck to his cheek, and it was with alarm that he noted something that felt suspiciously like a very sharp twig was digging into his face, dangerously close to his eye. He took what felt like several minutes to lift his leaden arms and pull himself into a sitting position, wincing as his aching limbs protested every little movement. Looking around him, Draco let out an audible groan as he realised he was no longer in the room. In fact, he was no longer in a building; he was, rather, in an obscure little forest clearing, sitting on dry dirt scattered with leaf litter.   
  
Scrambling to his feet and brushing stray leaves and bits of twig off his robes, Draco looked around him curiously. Wherever he was, he noted, it was definitely in an altogether different timezone from the imposing concrete structure he'd just left. A full moon shone down brightly, surrounding Draco in an unearthly glow and giving his silver hair a shimmering edge as he smiled wryly.   
  
"Hope I don't bump into Professor Lupin." he muttered to himself, crossing his lean and muscular arms across his likewise chest and strolling to the edge of the clearing.   
  
Out of the blue, a low, threatening growl sounded loudly behind Draco, and he spun around, grappling frantically for his wand. The growl ceased, only to be replaced by a low purr. Draco froze, his slender wand clutched in his hand as his knuckles turned white and he strained his ears, hardly daring to breathe. Quiet footfalls padded around the clearing, and Draco gave an involuntary shudder as he felt eyes boring into the back of his skull. Someone, or something, was watching him.   
  
"Oh for crying out loud," he snapped, more to himself than anyone else, all the while becoming more and more certain he was the only being in this forest who was entirely human, "Why did no-one tell me that Narnia was in a ruddy poky little room in my house?!"   
  
Getting thouroughly pissed off at the thought of not being informed of various alternate universes, Draco irritably shoved his wand back into his robe pocket and folded his arms, tapping his foot impatiently.   
  
"I suggest you stop looking at me," he shouted, scowling, "And at least come _out_ here. Who do you think you are? _Aslan_?"   
  
After a few minutes of Draco acting tough and relishing his own false bravado, he was getting quite impatient and wondering whether or not there was anyone, or anything, there. Once his fear of his unknown hunter faded, he was left wondering where he was, and how he was going to get home. Worrying about the time and getting concerned about his impending fate of either dying in some unknown forest, or at the very least missing his train to Hogwarts, Draco began searching for any sign of a Portkey or other way of getting home.   
  
When he didn't find one, he collapsed cross-legged onto the ground, running his now grubby hands through his dishevelled hair and wondering to himself if there _was_ a way home. He was positive there would be one but he didn't dare leave the clearing, preferring to sit on the ground waiting for someone, perhaps even his father, to come and find him.   
  
This plan was working out just fine, and Draco was having a strange but altogether okay time building a little twig broomstick when a loud roar filled the clearing and something very big whizzed past Draco's head, making his hair flutter around his face. He dropped his broomstick and scrambled to his feet, spinning around and fumbling for his wand.   
  
There was a loud whoosh of air behind Draco and a thud as something very heavy whacked him in the back, winding him and knocking him to the ground. His face hit the dirt with a thump and he landed awkwardly on his elbow, crushing it under his ribs as it twisted painfully. Biting down hard on his lip, Draco stifled a cry of pain and desperately tried to pull himself to his feet, scurrying backwards as whatever had knocked him down struck him in the ribs.   
  
"Owwww..." he cried, an exclamation which was followed by much cursing as his assailant came back for more. Draco, used to being beaten as the son of Lucius Malfoy, wasn't one to give up without a fight. He kicked out forcefully with his legs, and used his arms, strong from Quidditch, to grab onto the arm of his attacker.   
  
Struggling to his feet and breathing heavily, Draco brushed his wayward hair out of his eyes with his free hand, still holding onto the arm. He was just beginning to wonder why no-one was whacking him around the head with another arm when he caught his first real look of what had been hitting him, and let out a strangled cry of surprise.   
  
There was no other arm, or, in fact, any other limbs there to hit him. The arm he'd grabbed had been exactly that; an arm. An arm, and no more. Granted, it was as big as his leg and was wearing an imposing glove up to the elbow that looked to be made of steel, encrusted with emeralds and engraved with intricate little battle scenes and snakes, but it was still just an arm. When the longest fingers Draco had ever seen began creaking around in their steel covering, and clenching menacingly, Draco forgot (albeit, temporarily) that he had four whole limbs and was more likely so succeed in a fight now that the arm's element of surprise had diminished, and dropped the arm at his feet. It lay still for a few moments, and Draco stared at it in confusion. It was an arm, _only_ an arm... with nothing to control it. And then there was the whole forest situation...   
  
Draco, deep in thought, never noticed the arm creeping (if you could call dragging itself along, 'creeping') towards his right leg. He never noticed, but he felt it alright. He let out a scream as it clamped onto his leg and started to yank at him. He kicked his leg around frantically, but the arm only gripped on tighter, and Draco did the only thing he could think of.   
  
He ran.   
  
Crashing through the trees and screaming at the top of his lungs, Draco abandoned his earlier plan and raced out of the clearing. He ran until his muscles burned, but the arm showed no sign of letting go of his leg. Shuddering to a stop, he began whacking his leg off the nearest tree. The arm still wasn't loosening it's grip, and Draco swore loudly as he lost his balance and fell onto his backside in the dirt with a thud. The arm stopped moving briefly, and Draco breathed a sigh of relief.   
  
"_Give it to me_." hissed a disembodied voice from behind Draco, "_It's mine. Give it back._"   
  
"What, this stupid arm?" yelled Draco, standing up and turning round, "Take your bloody arm!"   
  
He let out a blood-curdling scream as he saw where the voice had come from, and turned on his heel and ran back the way he'd came. Now, Draco Malfoy certainly wasn't one for running away from danger and screaming like a girl, but this situation, in his eyes, definitely called for it. The voice had belonged to the most horrendous and disgusting sight Draco had ever seen, bearing in mind that Draco had spent a fair amout of time in Professor Snape's Potions classroom, surrounded by Lord knows what pickled in jars.   
  
What Draco had seen was something a fifteen year old boy certainly shouldn't have seen, never mind have had the misfortune of talking to. It was, in simple terms, a head, obviously no longer attached to a body. A large head at that, almost twice the size of Draco's own, with long matted black hair and pale skin. Pale skin that was peeling off in various places, to Draco's intense horror, and black eyes burning with fire half-shielded behind drooping eyelids. Draco was particularly repulsed by the cracked lips and gaping mouth filled with yellowing teeth, all in various stages of disintegration. Someone clearly wasn't fond of toothbrushes.   
  
After running for what seemed like hours, Draco was forced to stop to regain his composure and make full use of his lung capacity, and for a few minutes he could be seen leaning against a large tree. Breathing heavily and sweating profously, Draco almost forgot the arm was still clamped to his leg as his mind wandered to whether or not he'd get to the Hogwarts Express, and whether or not the people on it would smell his now unavoidable B.O. His thoughts returned to the arm though, when it decided it had had enough of his leg and lunged for his neck.   
  
Draco barely had time to cry out in surprise before the long spidery fingers began squeezing the life out of him, and soon he had sunk to the ground, desperately clawing at his neck, struggling to breathe. A terrified Draco resorted to thrashing around as wildly as he could in a desperate attempt to fling off the arm as his vision blurred and his head pounded, his lungs burning. He tried to speak, to scream or cry out for help, but it was impossible. Hearing a rustling of leaves behind him, he used the last of his rapidly decreasing energy to do the first thing that came into his head. He tried to get away, and came face to face with a house-elf who was trembling in fear with wide eyes.   
  
"_Help me!_" thought Draco helplessly, but the elf just stood there. "_I'm going to die!_"   
  
After a few seconds that seemed like hours to Draco, the house-elf stepped towards him and raised his right arm.   
  
"It's time to go home now, Mister Draco. You should not be here. Not yet. _Beware the Master's plan_."   
  
If he could have, Draco would have breathed a sigh of relief, and if the house-elf wasn't so - well, icky - he most certainly would have hugged him. For now though, he was content with the bright flash of golden light that lit up the forest and sucked at his insides, pulling him into a swirling vortex of rainbow colors.   
  
  
  


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As the hard concrete floor rushed to meet Draco his mind was filled briefly with a myriad of thoughts all centering the phrase "_This is going to hurt._" before he crashed onto the cold stone, and for the second time that day, he found himself in a situation were he practically had to be scraped off the ground. This time, however, it wasn't as difficult to stand up, only about seventy times more painful. Swearing loudly, he pulled himself to his feet and stumbled unsteadily to the door, bolting through it and slamming it shut behind him with an almighty crash.   
  
For the third time in one extremely strange day, Draco came face-to-face with a house-elf. Groaning loudly, he regarded it suspiciously, pulling out his wand as the Lucius in the painting roared and screamed at him.   
  
"_I told you not to go in there! You little arse... your father is going to kill you!_"   
  
"You little bastard, you knew that was going to happen!" Draco growled, ignoring the painting and focusing on his little would-be assassin, "I'll... I'll get you put in House-elf Azkaban! I'll get you killed! Say hello to Avada Kedavra, you spineless, leathery skinned little... thing!"   
  
"Eeeep!" squeaked the house-elf as Draco advanced, cowering in a corner crying, "But Sir, I was just to tell you... your car is leaving for the station, sir!"   
  
"Draco? It's time to go." called a prim voice airily, a voice that could only be his mother's.   
  
"See?" ventured the elf.   
  
Draco snarled at the house-elf before giving it a sharp kick and running towards his mother's voice. She was probably waiting for him at the front door, sniffing into a little lace hankerchief bought with dirty money while his father waited to whack him on the back and tell him to 'make his family proud'. He certainly didn't want to be late, he would need some time in those atrocious little Muggle public toilets to clean himself up after his recent encounter. He half wondered what he looked like, imagining the beginnings of a black eye and a few scratches. Unbeknown to him, he couldn't be further from the truth.   
  
As he rounded the corner leading to the Entrance Hall of the Manor, he came face-to-face with his parents. Narcissa gasped, and clapped a delicate hand to her mouth, and even Lucius seemed quite taken aback.   
  
"What happened to your face?" squealed Narcissa as Lucius looked at him rather strangely.   
  
"Er..." mumbled Draco, "It was a rogue elf," he continued, not actually lying, "It... um... it was out of control. Got over-excited. Tried to hump my face."   
  
"Tried to _what_?!" roared Lucius, and Narcissa merely raised an eyebrow. Draco found himself wondering if it was her who was having strange house-elf encounters before pushing the thought from his mind, hurriedly kissing Narcissa on the cheek, running out the door and jumping into his waiting car.   
  
"Got to go!" he cried as Lucius mouthed soundlessly, turning to Narcissa to ask her what on earth was wrong with their son, but she was staring wistfully into space, probably daydreaming about Dobby.   
  
"Damn you, drive!" Draco shouted, and the car sped off towards Kings Cross with Lucius waving absently and Narcissa looking distinctly shifty.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter Two

  
  
**Disclaimer:** This story contains characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, Inc. and AOL/Time Warner, Inc., and may incorporate ideas created and/or owned by other third parties including but not limited to Joss Whedon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
  
  
  
  
  


Run For Your Life

  
  
  
  
  
  
The ministry car that Lucius had laid on for Draco came to a halt outside King's Cross, and he ambled out looking a bit more respectable now that he'd stashed his dirty robes in his trunk. Unfortunately for the female population of Hogwarts, he'd had enough room in the back of the car to fumble his way into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and was now trying to see what kind of mess he was in by peering at the car window. The driver, a Squib by the name of Andrew something-or-other dumped Draco's trunk at his feet and hopped back into the car, driving off without a word.   
  
Draco sighed and cast a simple spell on his trunk, walking into the station with it bobbing along behind him in what he thought was a rather inconspicuous manner. When Muggles started gasping in surprise and pointing, he hastily undid the spell and made do with dragging it along the ground behind him, finding a toilet and hurrying in.   
  
"Geez, you'd think this was some kind of freak show..." he muttered, walking over to the nearest mirror. Normally Draco enjoyed (but never admitted he did) looking in mirrors, but as he stared back at a battered and bloodied version of himself, he let out a gasp. His cheek was already beginning to bruise and his face was covered in scratches, with a particularly nasty cut near his eye, which he suspected was caused by the twig. Luckily, the collar of his t-shirt hid some of the long bruises on his neck, obviously shaped like fingerprints.   
  
If Draco was a house-elf, he probably would have cried something like "Eeeek!", and if he was Hermione he'd be healing himself by now. Unfortunately, he had no desire to cry out like a girl and he didn't know any healing spells, so he quickly gave his face a wash to get rid of the dirt smudges and dried blood before sorting his hair out with a little Glamour Spell (no, Draco couldn't heal injuries, but he could save you from even the worst bad hair days) and picked up his trunk, heading for the train.   
  
He sauntered through the barrier, and came face to face with The Boy Who Lived.   
  
"Get out of the way, Potter." snapped Draco, groaning inwardly as he realised the Potterettes (namely Weasel and Smart-Arse-Granger) were there too.   
  
"Don't you talk to Harry like that!" piped up Hermione.   
  
"Oh shut up," retorted Draco, snapping. His day was going badly enough without a confrontation with the school's Support the Mudbloods Foundation. "Shouldn't you be off conquering evil Potter? You know, getting people killed, that kind of thing?"   
  
Ron's ears turned pink as Harry paled, casting his eyes downwards. Draco pushed through them and swaggered towards the train as Hermione held Ron back, squealing about how it wasn't worth it.   
  
  
  


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Draco dumped his trunk and walked into the usual compartment he shared with the other Slytherins. Pansy let out a gasp while Crabbe and Goyle just stared at him dumbly as he collapsed into a seat, rubbing his head which was now pounding painfully with the onset of a headache.   
  
"What happened to face?" asked Crabbe, scratching his own head and looking remarkably like a chimp. Draco racked his brains for a suitable excuse, one to change the subject while remaining understandable to his one brain celled friends.   
  
"I fell of my chair at breakfast this morning." he answered tonelessly, looking at Crabbe with his 'don't press it' look.   
  
"Aren't chairs somewhat... close to the ground?" asked Pansy curiously.   
  
"Yes." snapped Draco.   
  
"Oh, ok."   
  
  
  


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A loud explosion sounded in the last Hogwarts Express compartment as Fred and George's Exploding Snap card tower spontaneously combusted, showering Harry, Hermione, Ron & Ginny with sparks and singeing Fred's eyebrows. Hermione, however, was fuming about something other than the racket the twins were making.   
  
"Honestly, that Malfoy is sick! Remember what he said at the end of last year? And now this! Poor Harry has been through enough this year - " she yelled, stomping up and down the aisle. Harry, for a change, was huddled in a corner, unusually quiet and pale looking. Apparently Hermione was right, Harry had been through an awful lot this year and Malfoy's comment certainly hadn't made him feel much better. Quite the opposite, really.   
  
"Hermione, calm down." instructed Ron, "It's Malfoy. He's always been an insufferable git. We'll just have to ignore him. Either that or I'll do something about it. I'll sort him out if you like."   
  
"Oh yeah?" asked Hermione incredulously, rounding on Ron, "What are you going to do?"   
  
"Something damn well brave and manly." answered Ron, puffing with pride in a most Percy-like manner. Fred and George sniggered while Hermione threw her arms into the air in exasperation, collapsing into a seat beside Harry.   
  
"It's okay, Herm." he said quietly, "Ron's right. Malfoy's just an arsehole."   
  
"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, scandalised. "Language! Honestly, what would Dumbledore think?"   
  
"Who cares?" mumbled George, slapping Fred on the wrist as he tried to put another card on their quickly growing new tower, "Don't put that on you git, are you trying to cook me?"   
  
"Sorry."   
  
The group sat quietly for a while, Ginny throwing nervous glances at Harry and blushing while Fred and George discussed the pranking year ahead in low tones. Harry just stared despondantly out of the train window, watching as green scenery whizzed by in a blur. Finally, Hermione couldn't stand it anymore.   
  
"That's it," she cried, standing up, "I'm going to find Malfoy."   
  
And with that, she stormed out of the compartment leaving Harry and Ron open-mouthed as Fred and George muttered, "_Girls._"   
  
"On behalf of my gender -- you two are stupid... gits!" snapped Ginny, flouncing out of the compartment to find Colin.   
  
"Geez, what's with her?" asked Fred, wide-eyed.   
  
"Who knows? But I do know this - we say 'git' _far_ too often." replied George solemnly.   
  
  
  


.

  
  
  
  
Crabbe, Goyle, Millicent and Pansy were acting very odd, all staring at Draco expectantly as if they were waiting for _him_ to spontaneously combust.   
  
"What?" he snapped, slicing through the silence with his tongue, which was, as usual, sharp as a knife.   
  
"Nothing." mumbled Pansy, casting a nervous glance in Millicent's direction.   
  
Goyle was still staring at Draco dumbly, while the other three were desperately trying not to. Crabbe was whistling and peering out the window, and Pansy was now pretending to read a book. Draco, sharp-eyed as ever, noticed that it was upside down and rolled his eyes. He put their weird behaviour down to nerves due to the whole return of Voldemort situation, or the fact he was sitting in front of them, battered and looking like a psychotic thug. Draco was horrified to find Goyle becoming quite interested in his neck, and he quickly covered it up with his collar. He didn't want anyone writing to his father saying he'd almost been strangled, and having Lucius find out he'd been in the room he was forbidden to enter.   
  
"Stop it."   
  
"Huh?" mumbled Goyle.   
  
"You were looking at my neck."   
  
"What?"   
  
"You were checking out my neck. I saw you."   
  
"No, I wasn't."   
  
"Just keep your distance, pal."   
  
"I wasn't looking at your neck."   
  
"For goodness sake, Draco." sighed Millicent, her beady black eyes rolling heavenward, "What would Goyle want with your neck?"   
  
"Uh..." stuttered Draco, looking from Goyle to Millicent, and back.   
  
His pathetic attempt at a subject change was interrupted suddenly as the compartment door crashed open, bouncing off the wall with enough force to scare the crap out of Pansy, who squealed loudly and covered her eyes.   
  
Hermione Granger stormed in, already dressed in her robes and hat with a look that could kill on her face. Her bushy hair was sticking out from under the brim of her hat, and her ears were very pink indeed. Apparently she had the same anger management problem as Weasley.   
  
"Malfoy." she snapped, "I want to talk to you. Now."   
  
"Why would you want to talk to Draco?" asked Pansy suspiciously, her eyes travelling from Draco's expression of indifference to Hermione's one of anger.   
  
"It's alright Pansy; she just wants to berate me for a little remark fired in Potter's direction. It's not like we're going to have a conversation." replied Draco, standing up to face Hermione while Pansy breathed an all too obvious sigh of relief. Hermione shuddered as Draco stood over her at his full height, which was, incidently, a fair few inches taller than her. He stared into her eyes with his own stormy grey ones with a disconcerting look of intensity that sent shivers down Hermione's spine. She was used to Draco's eyes; she'd spent the better part of her first four years at Hogwarts glaring at him only to see a cold, cruel look of indifference. But now the look in his eyes was vastly different, there was something not quite right. It wasn't fear she saw, but a distinct air of suspicion. When she broke his gaze and allowed her eyes to travel over the painful bruises on his face and neck, she caught a look of fear from Draco and she had to swallow the cry of triumph attempting to rise from her throat.   
  
"What. do. you. want." drawled Draco slowly, immediately erecting a barrier around himself, hiding both the look in his eyes and the air of fear and suspicion surrounding him. Hermione bit back a cry of frustration at how quickly the real Draco Malfoy had been ripped away from her. She settled for giving him a look that had "I don't want to yell at you in here." stamped all over it, and turned on her heel, storming out of the compartment. Maybe if she caught him alone, he'd let his defences down again. Hermione would never admit it, but she was _desperate_ to find out what made Draco Malfoy tick, and to find out why he was so cold, so sarcastic and so very much like his father.   
  
Draco was torn between a good fight with Granger and an almost peaceful train ride to Hogwarts, but his Malfoy nature won in the end. He was never one to turn down a good fight, but only if his opponent was weaker than him. Plus, he was beginning to feel very edgy sitting in this particular compartment, so he followed Hermione out into the little hallway that separated the compartments and snapped the door shut. Hermione was on him in an instant.   
  
"Malfoy, what the hell do you think you're playing at?" she spat, looking up at him with a disgusted look in her eyes.   
  
"I don't know what you're talking about Granger." he replied nonchalantly.   
  
"Yes you do. After everything Harry's been through, and you make a horrible little remark like that... do you have _any_ idea how he feels? Do you? _Do you have any idea what he's been through_?"   
  
"Don't expect me to apologise, Granger. I don't apologise. In case you hadn't noticed, there are people who've been through a hell of a lot more than Potter!" yelled Draco, his drawl collpasing in ruins. Hermione saw her chance, and jumped to it like a dog with a squeaky toy and a stragetically placed hoop.   
  
"People like you?"   
  
Draco stared at her for the briefest of moments, a grim expression of coldness set on his face and empty eyes.   
  
"Granger, go away. I don't have time for this." he answered calmly.   
  
"Time for what?" asked Hermione innocently. She instantly regretted pressing Draco as he snapped, angrily yelling his unexpected reply.   
  
"_Time for what?_ You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about! I don't have time for you right now, because so far, I'm having a _really_ crappy day. For one, I get seven shades of shit scared out of me by a psychotic house-elf staring at me in a hallway a la Danny Torrance, then stumbling into what I _thought_ was a fairly normal room only to come _this close_ to bumping into the fucking lion, the witch and the wardrobe and almost getting killed. And now, to top it all off, you're trying to get inside my bloody head! Just get lost, Granger."   
  
Hermione stared at Draco, startled. He stormed back into his compartment and slammed the door, and she was left to ponder what he'd just said in shocked silence before making her way back to Harry & Co.   
  
  
  


.

  
  
  
  
As Hermione walked back into her own compartment deep in thought, it took a few seconds of Ron waving his hand in front of her face to snap her out of it. She sighed and flopped down onto a seat between Ron and Harry.   
  
"What did he say?" asked Ron curiously.   
  
"Huh?"   
  
"Malfoy."   
  
"Uh... I didn't find him." lied Hermione, hastily changing the subject, "Where's Ginny?"   
  
"Oh, she went to find Colin Creevey." replied Ron, tossing Hermione a Chocolate Frog. Harry, who seemed in higher spirits, probably after a 'Malfoy Is Just A Git' lecture from Ron, piped up.   
  
"Yeah, and the twins have gone to find Lee. Apparently he managed to smuggle some Cornish Pixies onto the train."   
  
Ron sniggered, and Hermione pushed all thoughts of Draco from her mind, suggesting a game of Exploding Snap.   
  
  
  


.

  
  
  
  
Later that evening, Hermione was sitting at the Gryffindor table with Harry, Ron, Ginny and the twins, breathing a sigh of relief as the Sorting ended. She was glad to see that Harry had put the Malfoy incident behind him and was acting very much the way she was used to him doing, despite having been locked up in the Dursleys all summer for 'his protection'. He hadn't been allowed to stay with the Weasleys, and was still bitter about the way owl post had been strictly monitored, so he hadn't been writing to 'Snuffles'. The Ministry were forced to accept the return of Voldemort, when, in the first week of the holidays, he killed forty Muggles in Edinburgh. A few well placed memory charms pinned the massacre on a terrorist bomb, but the wizarding world knew better.   
  
Fortunately, the wizarding world had escaped the holidays unscathed, but everyone was now on the edge of their seats, fearing the unknown. Hermione had spent the whole of her holidays cooped up in her house, terrified. She was extremely glad to be back at Hogwarts, and had managed to convince Professor Dumbledore via owl that her parent's house should be made unplottable. He'd agreed, after all, she was very close to Harry Potter.   
  
Hermione snapped out of her thoughts as Professor Dumbledore rose to speak and McGonagall hurried away with the Sorting Hat. She smiled weakly at the new Gryffindors, who were sitting trembling, staring over to the Slytherin table with looks of fear in their eyes. Hermione sighed. Gryffindors were meant to be brave, but even she was feeling a bit uneasy with the Slytherins in the same room. They were all sitting at their table, glaring at everyone else in the hall with their heads held high and looks of superiority on their faces. Hermione was used to this, albeit at a smaller scale, but the aura of power that cloaked the Slytherins was almost too much for even her to handle. There were only two exceptions, and that was Malfoy and Snape. Draco was looking a little paler than usual, and the bruises and scratches made him seem so much more vulnerable. Snape, on the other hand, looked nothing short of terrified, although Hermione noted he was hiding it well. Even paler than usual, his intensely dark eyes were darting around the hall and Hermione noticed they had dark rings under them. Professor Dumbeldore was giving him sympathetic glances, and Hermione seriously considered giving him one of her own.   
  
"Welcome students, to another year at Hogwarts." said Dumbledore gravely, with a sad smile, "A year which promises danger, and the very real possibility of death. However, what will happen will happen and we are best worrying about the present, not what the future may bring. And on that note, I would like to present to you our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Allbright."   
  
Everyone clapped politely as a wizened little witch with unruly, mousy colored hair and little round spectacles stood up from her seat at the far end of the table. Short and a little chubby, she looked perfectly normal in comparison with the previous teachers; Quirrell with his ridiculous purple turban, Lupin the werewolf and Mad-Eye Moody the, well, weird one. As Professor Allbright took her seat, the golden dishes on the four house tables filled with delicious looking food, and everyone tucked in.   
  
"Hey, Harry, looking forward to Quidditch this year?" asked Seamus Finnigan through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.   
  
"Yeah." answered Harry with a grin, his glasses slipping down his nose. Hermione silently scolded herself for even thinking there was anything wrong, and told herself not to be paranoid. They were at Hogwarts now. Where they were supposed to be. _Everything is the way it's meant to be_ - thought Hermione, _We're a hundred percent, super duper safe._   
  
  
  


.

  
  
  
  
Draco picked at his food as the rest of his housemates stuffed themselves, Grabbe and Goyle managing to make a great deal of mess while doing so. Peering round the table, he noticed that a few people weren't there this year. Blaise Zabini, for one, but that was old news. Apparently, she'd moved abroad because her step-father had gotten a new job while she was in second year. This year, however, Luke Smith was missing. He'd probably moved as well, thought Draco, but he was actually more concerned about having to share a room with just Crabbe and Goyle. And then there was Ophelia Hayes, who'd been the fourth girl in his year. Draco didn't know her or Luke very well, Ophelia was a Muggle born and Luke was a bit of an outcast really. Both of them had hung around only with each other, realised Draco now that he thought about it. He didn't know either of them at all. No great loss to the Slytherin House then.   
  
Wishing that the feast would hurry up and end, Draco spent most of it trying to ignore the glares from the Hufflepuff table and tried not to look at the place where Cedric Diggory used to sit. Feeling just a little guilty, Draco tried to imagine what it must be like for them. He never even came close. What was even worse was the way he and his housemates seemed to be getting so much of the blame, something he thought was a great injustice. It's not like they were all Death Eaters, even the oldest were only about eighteen. What kind of eighteen year old was a Death Eater? What had also surprised Draco was the speed at which events unfolded. One minute the whole thing was one big game, making snide remarks and hiding behind his family. But now, in a matter of hours at the Triwizard Tournament, it had escalated into a full blown war. Draco had never even once entertained the thought of Voldemort returning. Who would? Not with Golden Boy Potter around. But from the minute Harry Potter left the maze, Draco's life had changed dramatically. His Father, for one, was hardly home at all. Draco wasn't complaining though, well, not until his father actually did come home, drunk and angry. So _not_ a good combination. He was used to it by now, but he was _not_ used to the constant stream of stony faced wizards coming in and out of the fireplace in the library. Once, he'd been catching up on some homework for lack of anything else to do when Professor Snape rolled out of the fire, covered in soot and looking very shifty indeed. Upon seeing Draco, he stuttered a few vowel sounds and fled the library, leaving Draco sniggering into his Transfiguration textbook.   
  
Draco was now convinced someone was messing with time, because it seemed like hours since he'd arrived at Hogwarts. Breathing a sigh of relief when the plates and goblets were cleared, he hurriedly stood up and started making his way toward the Slytherin Common Room, not bothering to wait for Grabbe or Goyle. When he arrived at the large tapestry on a stone wall deep down in the heart of Hogwarts' dungeons, he was dismayed to find he hadn't even bothered to find out the password. Cramming his hands into his pockets and leaning against the wall, he practically melted into the darkness of the corridor. He was glad of this because, not for the first time today, he'd had a funny shiver run down his spine and a peculiar feeling of being watched. Hearing footsteps, he sank even deeper into the darkness of the corridor and held his breath.   
  
About twenty sets of footsteps rounded a corner, and Draco was thoroughly freaked out to see most of his housemates walking down the corridor in rows, all perfectly in sync with each other, looking like zombies from some cheesy Muggle horror film. They came to a stop in front of the tapestry and someone at the front muttered the password, causing the 'tapestry' to swing open. They all filed into the common room with identical expressions on their faces and made their own way to their rooms. Draco shook his head and ran in after them, hurrying to his room. Ignoring Crabbe and Goyle, he jumped into his bed and hastily drew the curtains shut, muttering about weirdos.   
  
  
  


*   
  
  
- s e p t e m b e r 2nd-   
  
  


  
  
  
When Draco woke up the next morning, he was relieved to find everything exactly the way it should be. Goyle was snoring loudly and the sound of running water alerted Draco to Crabbe having his rumoured yearly shower. Considerably happier than yesterday, he tumbled out of his bed and headed to the second of the two bathrooms in every Hogwarts dormitory.   
  
Fifteen minutes later, a cleaner Draco Malfoy with dripping wet hair and fresh robes on was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror beside his bed inspecting his bruises and scratches. Crabbe had long since headed down to breakfast, and Goyle was just beginning to stir. It would appear Draco had no-one to heal him at the present moment, so he hurriedly dried his hair with a spell, berated Goyle for being lazy and sauntered down to the Common Room.   
  
After frightening the new first years (who, in Draco's opinion, weren't up to much this year) with a glare and snapping sarcastically at a second year who mumbled "Excuse me." in his general direction, he finally felt ready to go to breakfast. He practically skipped down to the Hospital Wing, and probably would have if he was a Hufflepuff, because today was September second, he was Draco Malfoy, and what had happened yesterday had been pushed from his mind.   
  
He arrived at the hospital wing whistling the Weird Sisters' new song, giving Madame Pomfrey the fright of her life. Turning on the natural Malfoy charm, he politely asked her to heal his cuts and bruises so he didn't have to face the 'accusing stares of other students when he was already well and truly traumatised after being the victim of an unprovoked house-elf attack'. Madame Pomfrey shook her head, tutted, and answered a clear 'No'.   
  
"What?!" asked Draco.   
  
"It's a new rule." replied Madame Pomfrey absently, brushing past Draco to straighten some sheets, "I'm not healing any injuries from fighting. If you're going to get yourself into trouble, you can get yourself out of it. Learn some simple healing spells and you'll be fine."   
  
"But I want you to do it now!" whined Draco. Madame Pomfrey merely shook her head and went back to doing whatever it was she did until Potter got himself into one scrape or another.   
  
"Stupid... person!" snapped Draco, kicking the nearest bed and storming out of the room. Madame Pomfrey gave a small shriek and rushed over to straighten the sheets again.   
  
  
  


.

  
  
  
  
Hermione skipped down the stairs to the Common Room, breathing in deeply. She was sure that the familiar smell of Hogwarts was actually what magic smelled like; and every time she arrived in her favourite place after the holidays, she would delight in savouring the scent as long as she could before she became too used to it to notice it. She noticed a familiar mop of messy black hair sticking up at all angles from behind a chair, and she bounded over. Reaching over the chair, she put her two hands over Harry's glasses and giggled.   
  
"Guess who?"   
  
"Oh my God, it's a hyper Hermione!" cried Ron in mock terror, jumping up from his seat and cowering behind a confused Ginny, who was unfortunate enough to be walking past at the time.   
  
Harry sniggered and stood up too, giving Hermione a quick "Calm down and get back to bookworm mode, you weird person." look before suggesting they head down to breakfast.   
  
A few minutes later, the trio were about to enter the Great Hall and Ron was still teasing Hermione.   
  
"Honestly." he laughed, "What were you thinking? 'Guess who?' That is sooooo Parvati and Lavender."   
  
"Shut it, Ron." retorted Hermione, giving him a playful punch, "I was just happy to be back, that's all."   
  
They sat down at the Gryffindor table, which was half empty. Students liked to sleep in late the first day back, but Hermione, Harry and Ron never really bothered. Hermione made a mental note to herself to smile at Snape today, but she knew fine well that she'd probably bottle out as soon as she saw the intensely cold look of impassiveness in his eyes. Severus Snape was not an easy man to smile at. She decided that every day this year, she would smile at someone who she felt needed it, and quickly concluded that she would be smiling at the Hufflepuffs, Malfoy and Snape a lot this year, because she smiled at Harry enough all ready.   
  
Draco Malfoy sauntered into the Hall, and Hermione was not surprised to see he was back to his normal sarcastic self, and scolded herself for ever thinking the cuts and bruises made him look vulnerable. He looked anything but, looking more like a thug than anything else. Deliberately avoiding his gaze, she decided her smiles would be saved for Snape and the Hufflepuffs, who were still grieving Cedric. She flashed a grin at Justin Finch-Fletchley as he took his seat, and Justin smiled back. Hermione felt rather proud, and tucked into her breakfast with a lighter heart.   
  
Ron, however, had a heavy heart. It dropped like a stone when McGonagall handed out their timetables and the words "Potions: To be taken with Slytherin House. Teacher - Professor Severus Snape" glared at him from his little square of parchment.   
  
"Noooooooo." he whined, burying his head in his hands, "Not Snape!"   
  
Hermione instantly fell into "Defence of Death Eater Spies, Grieving Hufflepuffs and People Who Have A 'Tough Time' At Home" mode, and shook her head, giving Ron a 'Tut tut'.   
  
"Oh come on Hermione, you know you hate him as much as I do." retorted Ron.   
  
"Actually Ron, I don't. It'd help if you remembered exactly who is and who isn't _on our side_."   
  
And so it began. Harry watched in amazement as Ron walked straight into a massive debate with Hermione over Snape hating all Gryffindors, and as Ron put it, "Where the greasy old whinger's real loyalties lie.". They were still bickering all the way down to the dungeons for their first ever fifth year lesson, which, incidently, was Potions with Snape.   
  
  
  


.

  
  
  
  
"Mister Weasley, I'm sure Miss Granger no doubt deserves your glare but if you want to pass Potions this year I suggest you look at the board." snapped Professor Snape. Ron grumbled and mouthed "See?" at Hermione before copying the writing off the board like everyone else.   
  
Snape finished writing on the board and sat down at his desk, giving the Gryffindors a dirty look before picking up the class register. He sneered his way through the Gryffindors, but his expression changed to one of confusion as he scanned down the list of Slytherin names before peering curiously at the class. By now, they were all setting up their cauldrons, Neville trying to hold his steady as he trembled under the gaze of Snape.   
  
"Does anyone know where Ophelia Hayes and Luke Smith are?"   
  
The Gryffindors stared back at Snape, a few of them mouthing "Who?" to each other. A few of the Slytherins were looking quite smug, and Pansy Parkinson raised her hand.   
  
"Sir, they don't like parties." she grinned. The Slytherins sniggered, with the exception of Draco who gave a gasp and knocked his cauldron over. It rolled over the cold stone floor coming to rest beside the feet of Snape, who raised a critical eyebrow.   
  
"Draco, try to control yourself."   
  
Stuttering something unintelligible, Draco grabbed his cauldron and hastily set it up on his desk, avoiding to gaze of many Slytherins who were still laughing quietly to themselves and the whole group of Gryffindors guffawing at his clumsiness.   
  
"Silence!" roared Snape, and everyone shut up immediately, and hurriedly began to chop up their ingredients.   
  
"You know, he would have took points off Neville for that." snarled Ron quietly, but Hermione just ignored him and threw her asphodel root into her cauldron with a "Humphhh!" as Harry shook his head in warning, nodding towards Snape.   
  
  
  


.

  
  
  
  
"Do you think he suspects?" asked Pansy curiously, making her way over to the Slytherin table for lunch.   
  
"No chance." replied Millicent plaintively, "But he will if you don't shut up about it."   
  
Pansy nodded discreetly, plastered a saccharine smile on her face and flounced over to where Draco was sitting. He was picking at his food again, looking very ill. He flinched as Pansy screeched something that sounded a lot like "Ooooh, Millicent, come and sit with me." and tried to ignore her giggles. Apparently, he was the only one in the Great Hall who hadn't noticed the admiring looks he was getting from the girls at Hogwarts, most of them coming from Pansy herself. Hermione had already scolded Ginny for staring, and the fifth year Hufflepuff boys were muttering about show-offs under their breath.   
  
"He looks so... different." breathed Ginny dreamily, totally forgetting she was sitting beside Harry Potter.   
  
"Ginny, we all do."   
  
"Yeah, but..."   
  
There was no doubt about it, Draco had inherited his father's good looks. Silver blonde hair set him apart from everyone else, and his intense grey eyes, high cheekbones and pale skin gave him a distinct air of mystery, almost as if he didn't quite belong.   
  
"Honestly." muttered Hermione, "People don't notice what's right in front of them. The more unattainable, the more attractive. It's shocking."   
  
"Well, you can't get much more unattainable than Malfoy." remarked Ron, "I'll bet he's already got an arranged marriage with a Death Eater waiting for him when he graduates."   
  
"You think so?" asked Ginny, eyes wide.   
  
"Yes." replied Hermione solemnly.   
  
"Oh. I'd best leave it then."   
  
"_Best leave it then?_ What were you going to do?" snorted Ron, "Ask him out? You can't even talk to Harry."   
  
"Actually, _Ron_, I wasn't going to ask him out." spat Ginny, turning the color of her hair as Hermione edged away quietly. Getting in the way of a Weasley argument wasn't a smart move. "I was just going to ask him if he would like to go to the next dance with Colin Creevey's cousin. Who just happens to have a massive crush on him! And who, in case you were wondering, is in fifth year, a very good friend of mine and sitting over there at the Hufflepuff table!"   
  
Ron squirmed uncomfortably as Ginny scowled at him with all the hate of Snape left to his own devices in the Gryffindor Common Room.   
  
"And for your information," she continued, "I _can_ talk to Harry. It's only the reason we've been writing to each other all _summer_!"   
  
With that, the youngest Weasley pushed her chair back with a clatter and stormed out of the Great Hall. Harry was sitting grinning sheepishly, his cheeks tinged with pink as Ron and Hermione stared at him, eyebrows raised.   
  
"What happened to Cho?" sniggered Hermione.   
  
"Oh come on!" cried Harry, rolling his eyes, "I _never_ fancied Cho."   
  
"You've a cheek to talk." pointed out Ron, memories of he and Hermione's fight this morning still fresh in his mind, "_You're_ the one who ran off to God knows where with Mister One-Eyebrow himself, Viktor 'I can't quite talk right' Krum!"   
  
Hermione blushed furiously, but decided to take the attention from herself and rounded on Harry.   
  
"So, what about you Harry? Are you going out with Ginny or what?"   
  
All three of them sat in an awkward silence, peering at each other but trying to make it look like they weren't. Finally, Harry spoke.   
  
"Er... let's just forget we had this conversation and go to Defence Against the Dark Arts."   
  
  



	3. Chapter Three

  
  
**Disclaimer:** This story contains characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, Inc. and AOL/Time Warner, Inc., and may incorporate ideas created and/or owned by other third parties including but not limited to Joss Whedon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
  
  
  
  
  


Run For Your Life

  
  
  
  
  
  
Draco made his way to his first lesson of the afternoon quickly and alone, trying to avoid any of his 'friends'. He was still feeling uneasy about Pansy's remark in Potions. Seen as their was no other logical reason for two students not to have turned up at Hogwarts other than missing the train and crashing into the Whomping Willow in a flying car, Draco had chosen to believe what Pansy had said and was now feeling rather ill. The fact that there were many other plausible explanations meant nothing to Draco, so he decided to panic instead. He considered going to the Hospital Wing to get something for the stomach churning feeling of nausea that was making him want to bring his lunch up, but decided against waltzing into the infirmary and telling Madame Pomfrey that he was scared that his Father had killed two of his housemates and asking if he could please have something, because he was feeling very ill, thank you very much.   
  
Rather than do _anything_ about his feeling ill, he decided just to go to class. After all, it was Defence Against the Dark Arts and he wanted to see what the new teacher was like. Secretly glad that this one probably wasn't going to turn him into a ferret, but secretly dismayed he had to take this class with Gryffindors, Draco came to a stop outside the door of the classroom. He was the first Slytherin there, although the Gryffindors were already lined up. He sighed and joined the end of the queue, making an effort to ignore Potter and his sidekicks.   
  
Unfortunately, his few minutes alone (well, it wasn't like the Gryffindors were actually _talking_ to him) gave him even more time and reason to think about Ophelia and Luke. He was quite surprised by his own reaction, actually. Draco was more than used to death, after living with Lucius Malfoy for so many years. His earliest memory of someone or something close to him dying was when he was five years old and his father had stood on his favourite puffskein, Cuddles, and cried out an exaggerated and all too obviously sarcastic "Oops!". 'Custard' and 'Fluffy' soon suffered the same fate, and Draco had never been the same again. Lucius had insisted puffskeins were for stupid Muggle lovers with no sense of adventure, and bought Draco a raven instead. Draco had thought long and hard to give it a name, stretching his imagination well beyond what he thought was it's limit. It ended up being called 'Raven', and didn't like Draco much. He spent the next five or so years being pecked by it, before bribing one of his father's friends to stupefy it so he could hide it in the garden under the biggest hedge he could find. Draco still didn't know whether or not it was still there, and Lucius was certainly none the wiser. He was led to believe it had flown away with Lucifer, one of the family's many owls. Truth be told, the same friend of Draco's father had accidently killed Lucifer with a badly aimed Unforgivable, but fortunately, that was one secret no-one had ever found out. Lucky Severus.   
  
What with Draco being so used to his pets and wrinkly family members with skin like paper dying, he'd always assumed that if anyone else died, he wouldn't be that bothered. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of becoming a Death Eater, but he'd never even thought about it much. For most of his life, Death Eater activity was a list of people he didn't even know in the Memorium section of the newspaper, or the tally Lucius kept using notches on the side of his big oak desk. Reading about some wizard's wife being killed wasn't really anything out of the ordinary for any young witch or wizard, but being related to the wizard's wife, or even _being_ the wizard was an entirely different matter. Because Draco had never been in such a situation, he'd grown up with an entirely different perspective. He was comfortable with killings and torturings because to him, all they were was another stranger without a face. But when it came to actually killing and torturing, Draco had absolutely no experience whatsoever. So it was when Ophelia Hayes and Luke Smith didn't turn up for school that his world view was twisted grotesquely so that it confused him no end. Was he feeling guilty? Draco had never experienced guilt before. Only ever dealing with grief for a day before his father beat it out of him, Draco was now feeling decidedly weird.   
  
Draco was abruptly dragged from his trip down Memory Lane as the rest of the fifth year Slytherins arrived, followed closely by the stout form of Professor Allbright bustling down the corridor. She retrieved a massive iron loop adorned with about a hundred keys from her many-pocketed robes and after a few minutes of thumbing through them, unlocked the door and flung it open with great flourish.   
  
"Welcome," she squeaked, eyes sparkling, "To the most interesting class you are ever going to take."   
  
A quiet murmur spread through the assembled students, those at the front peering round the door and gasping. Professor Allbright walked in and everyone followed her inside, a few stopping abruptly to admire the room, causing a lot of bumping and shoving about.   
  
Even Draco, who wasn't easily swayed, stopped to admire the room. The floor was covered in a lush green carpet instead of the usual cold stone, and the every single wall and every inch of the ceiling were made of glass. It wasn't mirror though, because no-one could see their reflections. Indistinct shadows moved from corner to corner and down the walls as Draco watched in amazement. Apparently, Potter, Granger and Weasley knew what it was because Hermione was squealing that she'd never seen so much Foe Glass in her life. Draco stopped looking at the 'Foe Glass' as something else across the room caught his attention. It was a massive tank, like a Muggle aquarium, that ran from one end of the room to the other against the wall. It was filled with different types of water plant, and Draco could just make out a few Grindylows darting back and forth, and he saw a little Kappa trying desperately to strangle one of them. Tearing his eyes away, he made his way to one of the seats and sat down. The seating arrangement was one that Draco had never seen before. Long desks, long enough to sit around six people with the next desk a little higher behind it. There was a little set of steps to get to the rows highest off the ground, and Draco had walked up the stairs and was presently sitting in the middle of the very back desk, which was no more than a metre off the ground. He sniggered as Potter tried to sit in the front row and the seat gave a growl and tried to rip itself from the floor to whack him with it's legs.   
  
"Watch out dear." cried Professor Allbright, "That's the demon chair."   
  
Harry was dismayed to find there were no more seats, only one in the back row beside Draco Malfoy. He trudged up the stairs and sat down, trying to ignore Draco. Draco wasn't exactly pleased either, having found the entire row filled within seconds, leaving him sitting between Pansy Parkinson and Harry Potter. He tried to ignore both of them, opening his textbook to the page number written on the board. The words "Foe Glass" appeared at the top of the page, and large illustration of what looked like a mirror with the same floating shadows appeared in the middle. Lines of text appeared as well, as if an invisible hand was writing them. Draco left his book to it and turned to face Professor Allbright, who was now writing 'Foe Glass' on the board.   
  
"Does anyone know what a Foe Glass is?" she asked. Hermione Granger's hand immediately shot into the air, as did Ron Weasley's, albeit a little less enthusiastically. Harry slowly raised his hand as well.   
  
"Yes dear, what's your name?" she asked, pointing to Ron. Hermione looked absolutely murderous that she hadn't been picked, but Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he brought his hand down.   
  
"Ron Weasley." replied Ron.   
  
"So you know what a foe glass is?"   
  
"Yeah," continued Ron, "It's a glass thing, a bit like a mirror, that shows your enemies. They're blurry to start with, but the closer they come to you, the clearer they get."   
  
"Exactly!" exclaimed Professor Allbright, clapping her hands together in delight. Ron went pink as Allbright continued speaking.   
  
"Now, you'll notice that on your desks you have a little foe glass, that will show only _your_ enemies."   
  
Professor Allbright waved her wand, and the glass on the walls and ceiling disappeared only to be replaced by the stone walls covered with tapestries that were in every room. Draco moved his textbook, and discovered his own little Foe Glass. He bit back a cry of surprise as he saw, very clearly, the face of the head from the forest clearing. This time though, it was attached to a body and was looking a lot more, well, alive. The man disappeared only to be replaced by his father, sneering at him, an image that was soon washed away and replaced by one he didn't recognise. It was a young man with jet black hair, the kind of color that looks like the night sky itself. He had startling blue eyes and pale skin, a straight nose and high cheekbones. He was quite obviously laughing at Draco, tracing his wand through the air. Draco could see the faint outline of words appearing, but his concentration was broken by a loud gasp from Potter. The image immediately cleared, leaving only the black shadows that had been there before.   
  
Harry was sitting stiffly, staring at Draco's Foe Glass with an expression of utter shock on his face. Draco slammed his textbook down on top of it, and Harry ripped his eyes away.   
  
"Don't look at my Foe Glass." snapped Draco. Harry turned away, and spent the rest of the lesson trying not to look at Draco as they copied out the text from the book. After noting down his homework of a two page essay on Foe Glasses, Harry hurriedly grabbed his stuff and jumped down the stairs, grabbing Hermione by the arm and giving Ron a look, whispering "We need to talk."   
  
  
  


.

  
  
  
  
On their way down to the greenhouses for Herbology, Harry was frantically telling Hermione and Ron what happened with Draco's Foe Glass while trying to give the Whomping Willow a wide berth at the same time.   
  
"So Draco's dad was in his Foe Glass, who cares?" remarked Ron.   
  
"There was someone else as well." answered Harry, turning pale and gulping. He stopped walking and signalled Hermione and Ron to come close.   
  
"The last person there was... Tom Riddle."   
  
Hermione gave a gasp and clapped her hand to her mouth in shock, and even Ron looked surprised. After a few seconds of silence, they started walking again, Hermione deep in thought, Harry looking uneasy as he no doubt remembered his second year, and Ron looking very confused.   
  
"But why would Tom Riddle be there?" Hermione muttered, more to herself than anyone. "Draco is too young to have known him, he hasn't been Tom Riddle since God knows when! And he hasn't even _looked_ like Tom Riddle since, well, you know."   
  
Harry nodded as Ron pushed open the greenhouse door. They filed in and sat down in three seats next to each other, staring off into space. Harry was the first to speak, whispering quietly as Professor Sprout rattled on about mooncalf dung.   
  
"I was just thinking... you don't have to _know_ someone for them to be your enemy. I mean, we know Malfoy has no idea what Tom Riddle looks like, right? But that doesn't matter. What if Voldemort wants to... to kill Malfoy?"   
  
Ron's eyes lit up, and Hermione elbowed him sharply in the ribs. He glared at her, but she just ignored him.   
  
"Harry." she said, "No offense or anything, but think about what you just said."   
  
"Yeah." remarked Ron, "Why would Voldemort want to kill Draco? That's just stupid."   
  
Harry shrugged and pulled on his gloves, scooping the mooncalf dung into the little trough filled with soil that was sitting on the bench in front of the three.   
  
"I've got it!" cried Hermione a few minutes later, straightening up quickly, accidently flicking a trowel-full of dung into one of the greenhouse's glass panes. Professor Sprout raised her eyebrows, peering at the dung. Hermoine turned pink.   
  
"Got what?" asked Professor Sprout.   
  
"Er..." began Hermione, but Ron cut in.   
  
"A twitch in her wrist." he said solemnly, nodding to the dung and shaking his head. A few people snickered and Hermione blushed even more. Professor Sprout shook her own head, cleaning up the dung with a flick of her wand and turning back to a Hufflepuff who had managed to get her hair caught in the venomous tentacula.   
  
Hermione bent towards Harry and Ron, who were still sniggering.   
  
"I know why Riddle was in Malfoy's Foe Glass."   
  
"Why?" asked Ron curiously.   
  
"Well, we're all agreed that Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater, right?"   
  
"Duh." muttered Ron, rolling his eyes. Hermione glared him into submission and he squirmed uncomfortably under her gaze.   
  
"You know some about the Malfoy family, don't you Ron? Was Lucius' dad a Death Eater?"   
  
"I think so."   
  
"Probably was." grinned Hermione, getting all excited, "So it's obvious then, isn't it?"   
  
"No, Mione, it's not." groaned Harry, pushing his glasses up his nose.   
  
"Yeah, get to the point already." mumbled Ron.   
  
"Oh shut up Ron." snapped Hermione. Ron's jaw dropped and he started rattling on about how unnecessary it was to snap when Hermione interrupted him.   
  
"Okay, okay. Well, it's quite obvious that Draco's name has been down for Death Eaterdom since he was born. But what if he doesn't _want_ to be a Death Eater? That makes Riddle, or Voldemort, his enemy! The Foe Glass is probably just showing Voldemort in his most human form."   
  
"My God." breathed Harry, slapping his head. "We are _so_ slow."   
  
"Yeah, that was dead obvious." muttered Ron. "We are really stupid."   
  
"Either that or we're just so used to almost dying each school year we expect the worst." pointed out Hermione.   
  
"True."   
  
  
  


.

  
  
  
  
"Everyone please collect a teacup." simpered Professor Trelawny. Draco groaned, trying not to breathe in the languid fumes that hung in the thick air of the Divination classroom. They'd been doing the teacup trick since third year, and every lesson, someone either predicted a nasty fall during a Quidditch game or a fatal fall during a more interesting Quidditch game. Draco wasn't in Harry's class, but all the same, he knew how often Potter's death was predicted in Divination. Fortunately, Draco's death had never been foretold. In their very first Divination lesson, Trelawny had made do with predicting Blaise Zabini would die a drawn out and horrible death, but when someone politely pointed out that Blaise had left the year before, the class realised that Trelawny was picking random names from the class register. She'd backed off then, having the register corrected and concentrating on Harry Potter, to the immense relief of the Slytherins.   
  
About ten minutes into the present lesson, Draco was standing in the middle of the classroom, an expression of dismay marring his normally impassive features. Everyone had paired off, and he was left alone. Well, not completely... he had to pair with the _teacher_. That meant he'd have Trelawny reading his tea leaves. Stifling another groan, he gingerly took his seat as she peered at him with her big bug-like eyes and poured him some tea. Draco hated tea.   
  
Staring down at the great mush of brown stuff at the bottom of the cup, Draco tried to concentrate. Unfortunately, it was still just brown mush.   
  
"What do you see dear?" asked Trelawny, "Anything interesting about me?"   
  
The whole class was watching earnestly, silently willing Draco to predict Trelawney's death. Draco couldn't make heads or tails of the tea leaves though.   
  
"Uh..." he mumbled, setting the teacup down. "The tea laves told me that, er, your first name is Tetley."   
  
A few people sniggered, and those who didn't have a clue about the brand names of teabags just stared. Trelawney shook her head and tutted, picking up Draco's teacup. She gave a loud gasp and turned deathly pale, clapping a hand to her mouth.   
  
"The... _Grim_." she breathed dramatically.   
  
"Oh, I'm sorry!" exclaimed Draco sarcastically, "Did I pick up Potter's teacup?"   
  
A few people snickered, but Trelawney shook her head.   
  
"This one is real." she whispered.   
  
Draco rolled his eyes, but a few of his housemates looked rather interested. _Too interested_ - whispered a little voice in the back of Draco's head. Pansy looked nothing short of terrified though, and was glancing around the room nervously. A few people were shifting uncomfortably.   
  
"Give me that." muttered Draco, snatching the teacup. A lump rose in his throat as he saw the tea leaves. For once, it appeared Trelawny wasn't exaggerating. Right in the middle of the teacup was a perfectly shaped, brown and mushy Grim. He gave a gasp and dropped the teacup. It shattered into a thousand pieces, and the room fell into a shocked silence.   
  
The silence was broken as Trelwaney jumped up from her seat with a clatter, and yanked Draco from his seat and dragged him over to her desk. Ignoring his protest, she pushed him into a seat and plopped her crystal ball down in front of him.   
  
"What do you see?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest expectantly.   
  
"A big marble, you dolt." snapped Draco, trying to stand up. She pushed him back down into his seat, and gestured to the crystal ball.   
  
"Concentrate. And look into the crystal ball."   
  
Draco, seeing no other way out of the situation, leaned forward and peered into the crystal ball, silently praying something would appear so that his classmates would stop staring. However, when something did happen, it was most certainly not the kind of thing that stopped people from staring. Quite the opposite really. Draco would be very glad later when he found out that no-one else saw it.   
  
Draco stared into the glass of the ball, trying to concentrate as harsh sunlight reflected off the surface and shone into his eyes. Screwing them shut, he tried to ignore the dancing spots of color that flitted under his eyelids. A soft breeze blew his hair around his face, and he wondered vaguely whether or not someone had left the window open. The wind whispered in his ears, mournfully crying out to him, telling him to leave, to run. To run and never come back.   
  
Draco's eyes shot open, his pale eyelashes framing his stormy eyes beautifully as a lump of fear rose in his throat. He half wondered if he was in a Foe Glass, as indistinct black shadows moved around the blank expanse of space before him. They writhed and twisted, rising like smoke from a candle flame, wrapping themselves around Draco as he stood rooted to the spot. He couldn't move as the tendrils of inky blackness swallowed him, till he was surrounded by darkness. When they finally receeded, he was left feeling clammy and ill, and suddenly, the comforting stability of solid ground beneath his feet was ripped away.   
  
Curiously calm, he fell into darkness. No longer knowing which way was up, and which was down, Draco spun aimlessly, twisting and turning in slow motion. Straining his eyes, he saw flickering images before them, slowly coming into focus. The flickering images took shape, and Draco watched in eerie silence as scenes from his life were played out before his eyes. He saw himself as a young boy, alone in the cold, cruel and imposing Manor. He saw himself as a scrawny little first year, making snide remarks. He saw himself battered and bloodied at the hands of his father, he saw first hand the terror and pain in his own eyes, and the cold impassiveness of his father's. Not noticing he had come to a stop, floating in mid-air, Draco stared, mesmerized as his life flashed before his eyes. He saw the oh-so-famous Harry Potter, and saw himself doing anything within his power to bring the Golden Boy down. Running up to the Astronomy Tower with stories of dragons, bribing Anita Skeeter with false information. The shiny new Nimbus brooms his father had bought, and Potter's sleek Firebolt. Saw himself sneering as he heard his Father talk of how the Dark Lord would kill Potter, saw himself blundering through life hiding behind his family and a bad attitude.   
  
"That's you, you know." sighed a female voice, a little too matter-of-factly.   
  
Draco was about to turn round to see who had spoken, but in a flash, she was standing in front of him, staring down a straight nose at him disdainfully.   
  
"Embarrassing, isn't it? I mean... look at you." she continued, leaning back to sit in a chair that wasn't there, and ending up looking just a little strange, reclining in thin air. She had warm brown eyes and shoulder-length chestnut hair, and was clad in floaty silk robes. She looked normal enough, but the fact she was inside a crystal ball was pretty alien to Draco, who was finding it hard to keep his eyes off her and even harder to keep from screaming "Where am I?!" at the top of his lungs. Instead, he mumbled something unintelligable.   
  
"What was that?" yawned the woman lazily, reaching into her robes and producing an apple. She bit into it with a loud crunch as Draco blushed to the roots of his silver hair.   
  
"I said, it's not that bad."   
  
He could tell that the woman, whoever she was, was trying to suppress a snigger. He gave her an evil look, and with one fluid movement, her expression changed to one of indifference. She drew back her arm and threw the apple at Draco. It whizzed through the air faster than anything he'd seen, and he was reminded briefly of the Snitch before it silently screeched to a halt in front of his nose and exploded quietly, showering him with bits that instantly disappeared. He continued to stare, wide-eyed, as the woman rose from her invisible seat and walked over to the empty patch of space where the little scenes had been played out.   
  
"This is a crystal ball, Draco." she said quietly, stroking the little patch of air as if there was something there. Draco remained silent, staring at her curiously.   
  
"Crystal balls show the future." she whispered, more to herself than Draco. Tapping the air silently with her knuckles, she didn't flinch as a small black dot appeared and suddenly grew to the size of a cinema screen quicker than sparks flying from a flame. She turned to Draco and crossed her arms, staring at him, yet staring through him.   
  
"Would you like to see your future Draco? Would you? Do you want to know what you are? How would you like a front row seat to the horror you are going to become?"   
  
Draco gulped, his heart pounding wilder than ever before.   
  
"You can show me that?"   
  
"Yes, I can. I'll show you the way you will be if you continue down the road you have wandered onto. I will show you as your Father's son."   
  
Draco froze. His Father's son? What would that be like? Silence pounded in his ears as the strange woman stared at him expectantly. He nodded meekly.   
  
"Show me." he croaked through a parched throat.   
  
"Very well."   
  
She gestured to the blank screen, which began to fuzz and crackle lightly. Draco steadied himself and walked cautiously towards it. He reached it's obsidian surface and gently laid a hand on it, gasping at the smooth marble coldness. He'd expected it to be nothing more than a sheet of material, or a painted square on a wall. He ran his pale hand over the darkness, starting as it slid into it. Eventually his whole hand disappeared, followed by his arm. He took another step forward, and found himself on the other side. Looking back, he caught sight of the woman, but the Draco-shaped hole in the screen closed up suddenly, leaving him alone.   
  
As he turned to face the direction he'd walked in, Draco had the urge to gasp again, but refrained. He'd been doing that a lot today.   
  
He was now in his Father's study, standing on the lush rug that took up most of the floor. Bright sunlight shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the familiar oak desk. But, instead of having a few notches along the right hand edge, the whole structure was marred by little cracks, scratches and gashes. His Father couldn't possibly have killed that many people, could he?   
  
Draco jumped as the door clicked open, and unsuccessfully tried to blend into the non-existent shadows. Fortunately, when two people walked into the room, they didn't notice him. Maybe no-one could see him at all. After all, this _was_ the future.   
  
The two figures, one tall and imposing with familiar silver-blonde hair, broad shoulders and impeccable robes; the other a small boy, aged about five or so, with refreshingly normal, brown colored hair, were standing in front of the windows. The tall man who Draco assumed was Lucius had his arms folded, and the little boy was trembling in fear. Draco wondered why his Father was with this strange little boy, but he was distracted as Lucius began to speak.   
  
"Your Mother told me that you were rude to her at breakfast this morning, Thomas." he snarled, and the little boy whimpered. "You will have to be punished. Savour this view. It is the last time you will see it for many weeks."   
  
Draco gritted his teeth and clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, an involutary reaction to the all too familiar phrase, spoken so often by his Father. He relaxed suddenly, though, when 'Lucius' grabbed Thomas roughly by the hair and turned to leave the room. Draco's jaw dropped as he caught sight of 'Lucius', who was quite obviously, not. It was, to his horror, an older, but unmistakable Draco Malfoy. Speechless and numb, he followed himself and his 'son' from the room.   
  
Draco shuddered as he realised they were travelling the familiar route to the dungeons, and winced as he stopped every few corridors to give his son a sharp kick and berate him for sobbing and whimpering.   
  
"No, Daddy, please!" Thomas cried, tears rolling down his pale cheeks, terror in his eyes. Draco had to look away, the memories of his own early childhood clawing at his soul. His adult self ignored the boy's pleas, kicking him to the ground were he lay crying as his Father opened the door leading to the cold and damp dungeons.   
  
The door swung open with an all too familiar creak, and Draco watched in horror as adult Draco grasped his son by the hair and threw him down the concrete stairs, an insane fire dancing in his eyes, his smile growing wider with every sickening crack. Young Draco turned on his heel and fled the corridor, disgusted and terrified.   
  
Draco ran, his heavy boots thumping on the hard floors, his heart pounding, his muscles burning. He was desperate to put as much distance as he could between himself and, well, himself. Throwing open the nearest door, he stumbled through and slammed it shut behind him, dismayed to find he'd left the Malfoy Manor altogether.   
  
He was standing in the centre of a small, cosy little living room with flowery wallpaper and cheerful pictures of a Muggle family hanging on the walls. He saw a large, glass fronted box and more strange little instruments with buttons on, and heard a quiet hum of conversation coming from the hall. A feeling of absolute terror and nausea came to rest like a heavy weight in his gut, but he walked warily out into the hall anyway.   
  
Draco tensed as he came face-to-face with the familiar sight of a group of robust men in standard grey Death Eater robes, eerie in the half darkness of the hallway. Grotesque masks peeked out from under the heavy hoods, all of the 'faces' twisted into a bizzare array of personalities: a crying clown, a vampire with bloodied fangs, a wolf, a face criss-crossed with angry red scars...   
  
He heard a muffled cry, and peered into the shadows. There, in the very darkest corner of the hallway, was a Muggle man, dressed in a uniform that Draco suspected belonged to the Muggle police, bound with magical rope and gagged. He was desperately trying to escape, kicking frantically. One of the Death Eaters saw him, crying "Crucio!" as a polite knock sounded at the door. The door swung open and a tall figure dressed in the same grey robes with a horrifying mask depicting the mutilated face of Harry Potter, scarred and twisted horribly walked in calmly amid the shattering and desperate screams of the Muggle man.   
  
"Hello Draco." sneered the clown. The man in the Harry mask merely nodded, stepping delicately over the writhing Muggle.   
  
"The wife and daughter are bound and gagged upstairs. Have fun." said the vampire, giving the Muggle a kick to make sure he was still alive after the curse. He was now lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, weeping. They didn't want him dead yet. Draco knew, somehow, that they were going to make him suffer more than the Cruciatius curse.   
  
Draco felt sick and light headed as his older self ascended the stairs calmly and slowly, his grey robes trailing on the forest green carpet. Thoughts and wonderings of what exactly 'fun' was, and a morbid curiosity joined and willed maskless Draco up the stairs slowly, trailing behind his future self and numbly following him into a cheerfully decorated children's bedroom.   
  
By the time Draco caught sight of the little girl bound and gagged in the corner of the room and the terrified Muggle woman in a full Body Bind on the bed, he was frozen in shock and unable to move.   
  
"No." he whispered, finally breaking free of the shock that had been holding him rooted to the spot, trying to pull his older self back, "Don't!"   
  
His pale hand just grapsed at the air, sliding silently through the robes of his future self and right through to the other side. Screwing his eyes shut as the masked Draco descended on the sobbing Muggle woman, he fumbled his way out of the room and ran down the hallway, bursting into the nearest doorway, tripping over the edge of a large rug and cracking his head on something solid as the door creaked shut behind him.   
  
He lay on the soft carpet for about a minute, wincing as a dark trail of crimson inched its way down his cheek. His eyes burned horribly, tears fighting desperately to escape. How could this be happening? It wasn't true, he was sure of it... why would he do such horrifying things? All for Lord Voldemort? Reality hit him like a ton of bricks as he realised his Father had been doing the exact same thing, ever since he'd graduated from Hogwarts... all this time, all fifteen years of Draco's life, his Father had been some sick, twisted monster.   
  
Draco struggled to his feet, his head spinning and his stomach churning. He came face to face with the oak desk of his Father's study, now 'his' study... the desk with not a single inch of unmarked wood. Draco knew it would take hours, maybe even days, to count every little mark. Every dead person. Every name in the paper.   
  
"You did this to me." whispered a voice, almost too quiet to hear.   
  
A wave of fear washed over Draco, and he ripped his eyes from the desk and slowly turned round. Standing in front of him was the Muggle woman, dressed in a floaty white summer clothes, covered in blood from head-to-toe. Ghostly pale, she inched her way towards Draco with empty, lifeless eyes. He whimpered and backed away, tripping over the desk chair and falling to the carpet again, watching in wide-eyed horror as the whole room was suddenly filled with people. Dead people. All of them, lifeless and pale, with the same empty eyes and outstretched hands, all of them reaching for Draco, trying to grab him, to hurt him. They filed into the study through the now open door, numb, like zombies. A lump of fear rose in Draco's throat as he was confronted with the blind stares of almost a thousand pairs of eyes, each of them silently accusing him, hating him...   
  
And he screamed.   
  
"Mister Malfoy!" called a stern voice.   
  
Draco's eyes shot open, only to stare into the big bug-like ones of Trelawney, wide and worried behind her ridiculous glasses.   
  
"Are you all right, Mister Malfoy?" she asked uncertainly as Draco struggled to his feet from his resting place on the stone floor, every single student in the class staring at him like he was some kind of mutant, each of them absolutely terrified. Draco mumbled a reply and grabbed his bag, running from the classroom and fleeing the corridor, ignoring Trelawney's cries of "What did you see?!"   
  
He pounded down the winding corridors, the portraits and tapestries flying by in a hazy blur, disgust and fear pumping through his veins. He came to a stop somewhere deep in the damp dungeons and slid to his knees. The world spun in front of him, dizzy, pale and sweating as his stomach churned and his lunch decided to make an entrance onto the cold stone floor.   
  
  
  


.

  
  
  
  
Draco didn't go to classes for the rest of the day, and was no-where to be seen at dinner. Professor Trelawney told of her fifth year lesson that day with great relish at the dinner table, but most of the teachers just shruggged it off. If there was something she was well known for other than her ridiculous predictions, it was her fondness of exaggeration. Dumbledore, however, spent the rest of the meal staring over to the Slytherin table thoughtfully.   
  
After dinner, Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny made their way towards the Gryffindor Common Room, and flopped down into the comfy chairs for lack of anything else to do. For the first time in a while, they had done all their homework already. As Hermione expected, Ron and Harry broke out the wizard chess, and engaged in a furious battle, with their pieces taking the game a little too seriously. Ron's were well known for their tactics of 'whack, whack and whack again', while Harry's were soon catching up in the violence stakes.   
  
Harry never saw Ginny staring at him fondly, but Hermione did, and her face broke out in a massive cheesy grin. Most un-Hermione-like. Ginny broke out in an equally, if not more, cheesy grin when Hermione asked her what was so interesting.   
  
"Nothing." she lied.   
  
"Yeah right." sniggered Hermione, "You are totally obssessing over Harry."   
  
"I am not!" exclaimed Ginny, turning pink, "I don't know what you're talking about. _You're_ the one who spends every minute with him!"   
  
"Well, I'm not constantly monitoring his health, his moods, his blood pressure..." pointed out Hermione.   
  
"130 over 80." blushed Ginny.   
  
"You got it bad, girl!"   
  
"I know." mumbled Ginny, burying her head in her hands. "What should I do?"   
  
"You could ask him out." remarked Hermione. Ginny just looked at her like she was crazy.   
  
"_What?!_" she cried, "I... well... when I'm with a boy I like it's hard for me to say anything cool, or witty, or at all. I - I can usually make a few vowel sounds. And then I have to go away..."   
  
"Ginny, I think we have to go see Parvati and Lavender." replied Hermione solemnly, dragging a protesting Ginny up to the fifth year girl's dormitory.   
  
Ten minutes later, Ginny was in the safe hands of Parvati and Lavender, who were both ecstatic to have someone to make-over and give little prep talks to. Hermione had had enough of their squeals of "Ooooh, Hermione, you and Ron would be so cute together!" and now that they had a new doll to play with, namely Ginny, she was feeling as if she could breathe properly for the first time since their first Hogwarts ball.   
  
Hermione trotted downstairs to the Common Room, where Fred, George, Harry and Ron were having a little war with their chess pieces. Giving one of them a little kick as it threw a teeny little rock at her shin, Hermione told them all she'd see them later.   
  
"I'm going to the library." she explained as Harry tried to piece together his now broken knight.   
  
"You broke my knight!" he whined in a most Dudley like fashion, and she rolled her eyes.   
  
"It hit me, what did you expect me to do? Hug it?"   
  
Ron sniggered and Hermione made her way out of the portrait hole, glad to be out of the crowded and noisy Common Room. Some days, when people had nothing to do, it was just a little too much. She walked slowly down the corridor towards the library, savouring the silence. Hopefully she wouldn't bump into Peeves.   
  
Hermione stopped and held her breath as she heard footsteps approaching, instinctively jumping behind a well-placed tapestry. Four years of sneaking around Hogwarts with Harry and Ron had make her a little jumpy, and even as she checked her watch and realised she had hours yet before she wasn't allowed out, she still felt a peculiar sense of guilt. Brushing the guilt and memories of midnight trips to the kitchens aside, Hermione watched in great interest as Draco Malfoy half stumbled down the corridor, the most part of him hidden in the shadows. Not wanting to emerge from behind the tapestry to a barrage of sarcastic remarks, she decided to wait till Draco passed.   
  
Instead of sauntering as he usually did, Draco was, unfortunately for Hermione, making his way down the corridor painfully slowly. She sighed, tapping her foot impatiently. What was his problem? It was almost as if he knew she was there, doing this deliberately. Folding her arms across her chest and plastering her best haughty expression over her face, she boldly stepped out into the corridor and made to brush past Draco. She intended to make it one hundred percent clear that she didn't think he was worth looking at.   
  
However, Hermione didn't get that far. She took one step into the corridor and walked straight _into_ Draco, instead of past him. She gave a quiet 'Oof.', half stumbling backwards. Draco stopped completely, standing still in the middle of the corridor, staring straight ahead and hardly even noticing she was there. Hermione looked him up and down, and decided not to walk straight by. Draco's robes were all tangled and dusty, his pale face covered in a glistening layer of sweat, his normally immaculate hair mussed up and sticking out in all directions, much like Harry's. Thinking to herself that he'd been in a broom closet with some lucky -- wait, _unlucky_ (what was she thinking...?) girl, she was just about to make some smarmy remark about not noticing Draco had become the school's resident slut when he looked her right in the eyes.   
  
Hermione wasn't easily shocked, after four eventful years at Hogwarts being confronted with the likes of Fluffy, Norbert and Lord Voldemort himself, but even she was a little taken aback at the look in Draco's eyes. Well, hardly taken aback. More like chilled to the bone. They were eerily empty, yet filled with pain and fear, staring blankly ahead. Hermione had never seen such a blank look before, and was stunned into silence. For a few minutes, the both of them just stood in the corridor, Hermione looking surprised and rooted to the spot, Draco staring ahead at nothing.   
  
A few minutes later, Draco blinked a few times, and peered at Hermione as if seeing her for the first time. Confused, he ran a nervous hand through his limp hair.   
  
"Granger?" he croaked.   
  
"Malfoy, what is _with_ you?" asked Hermione, snapping back to reality. "Are you high or something?"   
  
"Uh... no?"   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes, and ignoring the ick factor of touching her worst enemy, grabbed Draco's hand and proceeded to drag him to the Hospital Wing.   
  
  
  


.

  
  
  
  
"Apparently, Professor Trelawney predicted his death today in Divination, and he had a little experience with her crystal ball." mused Professor Dumbledore, stroking his beard while Hermione tried to peek round the curtain erected around the bed Draco was now being forced to get into. She jumped back as Madam Pomfrey bustled out, pulling the curtains shut behind her.   
  
"He's in shock, Albus." she tutted, reaching into the nearest cupboard and pulling out a massive bar of chocolate from a huge stack.   
  
"Ahhh." replied Dumbledore absently, turning to Hermione. "Death predictions can do that."   
  
"But Harry's death is predicted in Divination all the time!" protested Hermione, "I'm sure he must have been sniffing something..."   
  
Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes twinkling.   
  
"I'm afraid not, Miss Granger." he answered as the choking sounds of Draco being force-fed chocolate emerged from behind the curtain. Hermione shrugged, willing herself to walk towards the door and leave Draco to it, but a strange curiosity told her to stay.   
  
"Honestly, that woman..." fumed Madam Pomfrey, "Trying to scare the students to death, she is!"   
  
"Yes..." replied Dumbledore, "I think I might go and have a word with Sybill. Thank you Poppy."   
  
With that, he made his way out of the room, pausing to let a coughing and spluttering first year by.   
  
"My my, the trouble Coughing Potions can cause..." Hermione heard him say before he disappeared from sight and Madam Pomfrey ushered the poor first year to a bed on the other side of the room.   
  
Hermione was left standing alone in the middle of the unnervingly sterile Hospital Wing, biting nervously on her lip and wondering whether or not to pull back the curtains and ask Malfoy what the hell was going on. Normally, she wouldn't have bothered, but a little voice was nagging at her to do it. I mean, what if this had something to do with Voldemort? Was Harry in any danger? Convincing herself she was doing it for Harry's sake and not out of sheer nosiness, Hermione pulled open the curtain.   
  
Draco was sitting on top of the plain white sheets, crouched over with his head in his hands. His hair fell over his eyes and through his long fingers, reaching to the starched cuffs of the scratchy cotton pyjamas Madam Pomfrey had forced him into. Hermione cleared her throat quietly, and Draco started, looking up quickly. Hermione was glad to see he looked a damn sight better than the Draco she'd bumped into forty minutes ago. No longer sweaty and, well, icky, he had a little more color in his cheeks and his eyes weren't to disconcertingly empty.   
  
"Hi." she ventured.   
  
"Hullo." he replied, a ghost of a smile playing over his lips. "I wasn't high, by the way."   
  
"Uh... I didn't think you were." lied Hermione. "So how are you?"   
  
"Well, I feel like shit and I'm wearing cardboard pyjamas. As well as could be expected, I suppose."   
  
"Yeah." replied Hermione. A few minutes of silence followed, with Hermione counting each second free from insults in amazement, wondering whether or not Draco had bumped his head.   
  
"So..." she said, breaking the silence, "What happened anyway?"   
  
"Oh." replied Draco, shifting uncomfortably, "Nothing much. Trelawney saw a Grim in my teacup."   
  
Hermione refrained from telling him that Harry got Grims all the time, and decided against crying "You people are still doing teacups?!", opting for a less insulting or sarcastic reply.   
  
"Is that all?" she asked curiously.   
  
"Uh-huh." answered Draco, fiddling with a corner at the bottom of his pyjama top. Hermione breathed a quiet sigh of relief. At least it wasn't anything to do with Harry. Or Ron. Or Voldemort. Pondering the miraculous properties of magical chocolate and how it'd managed to turn an insufferable git into someone semi, if not more, normal, and resolving to look it up somewhere. Possibly in a book.   
  
"Well, I suppose I better get back to the Common Room." replied Hermione, giving Draco a quick smile. He gave her a weak wave as she turned away and walked to the door. She was just at the door when he called her back.   
  
"Hermione?"   
  
"Yeah?" she asked, turning round.   
  
"Do you hate me?" he asked nervously.   
  
"_What_?" laughed Hermione.   
  
"No, seriously." answered Draco quickly, "Am I an evil person?"   
  
"Evil?" sniggered Hermione, "You're annoying, sarcastic, and always find time to be nasty... but evil? Don't be stupid."   
  
Hermione turned and walked from the Infirmary, but not missing the quiet 'Sorry.' from Draco. She left him with his no-doubt jumbled thoughts and made her way to the Common Room, hoping that Draco's apparent change of heart was for real and not just some chocolatey side-effect. She decided not to tell Harry and Ron about her little Draco encounter just in case. Draco didn't know it, but his quiet one word apology for four years of nastiness meant a hell of a lot to Hermione, and she was sure that it would mean even more to some people. And maybe, some day, it would mean a lot to the Light Side.   
  
After a few minutes walk, Hermione was a lot closer to the Common Room, but no where near understanding Draco Malfoy. Deep in thought, she was shocked enough to give a quiet yelp as she walked straight into Professor Dumbledore.   
  
"Sorry Professor." she bustled as he carefully slid his glasses back up his crooked nose and gave her a smile.   
  
"Ah, Miss Granger, just the person I wanted to see."   
  
"Really? Why?" asked Hermione curiously.   
  
"It concerns Mister Malfoy."   
  
"Oh."   
  
"I trust you spoke to him in the Infirmary?" asked Dumbledore, stroking his snow white beard.   
  
"Yeah. He called me _Hermione_."   
  
"My goodness." chuckled Dumbledore, "That was certainly unexpected."   
  
"I don't think he wants to be a Death Eater!" blurted Hermione, immediately regretting it and turning a bright red shade.   
  
Dumbledore, however, didn't seem fazed by Hermoine's sudden outburst. He gave a solemn nod, deep in thought.   
  
"Well, you see, it is not our choice. It is all down to Mister Malfoy." he smiled sadly, and Hermione nodded meekly. "Did he tell you what happened today?"   
  
"He just told me he saw a Grim. Why? Was it something else?"   
  
"I'm not sure." replied Dumbledore, "But if it was, I'm sure we'll find out eventually. We always do. And, it seems, when we do... everyone else does. Anyway... you'll have to get back to your Common Room, and I have an important chat with Professor Snape waiting. Goodbye for now, Miss Granger." he continued, his eyes twinkling as his mouth twisted into a friendly smile.   
  
With that, he started walking again, in the direction of the dungeons. Hermione stood where she was, thinking frantically. Should she ask what she'd been dying to since first year? Now was the perfect chance, after all, it wasn't often she spoke to the Headmaster alone. And she'd already embarrassed herself once by blurting her thoughts about Draco, what harm would one more stupid thing said do?   
  
"Professor?"   
  
"Yes, Miss Granger?" replied Dumbledore, turning back to face her. The look in his eyes plainly told that he knew fine well she was going to call him back. She half suspected he knew what she was going to ask.   
  
"Well, Professor... you said, uh, that you were going to Professor Snape's..."   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"And it, er, got me wondering..." stuttered Hermione, "Why is he so... angry? And why is he... on our side?"   
  
Dumbledore, again, didn't look surprised.   
  
"I'm afraid I can't answer that question, Hermione." he replied, "But I can tell you that Severus has every reason to be angry at the world, and that he is on our side because he chose to be. Something terrible, more terrible than you could ever imagine happened to him, but luckily he came back from the brink and has since been a valued member of our staff. Although there are many people who believe him to be something else. A Death Eater, maybe. But, as with Mister Malfoy, it is his choice. A choice, which may have been influenced very heavily by grief and guilt, but that is something else that we have no control over. We can't heal Severus, or anyone else for that matter. He would need someone who had been in a similar position, someone who would understand. Understanding Severus' anger is something only few people could do, and only someone who could, or could come a little closer than you or I could heal him."   
  
"I know what you mean, Professor, it's just that... well, for a while now, I've thought that if only I could understand him a little better, I could stop being so angry at him. I feel myself getting angry at the way he treats Harry, the way he treats Neville, his predjudice against Gryffindors... I don't want to get angry, or hateful, sir. I don't want to go the same way."   
  
"I understand you perfectly, Hermione. And I'd like to remind you that, unfortunately, Severus is acting the way many people expect him too. But if you truly feel you need to understand him better, for any reason that would benefit you or even he, I suggest you take a visit to the Restricted Section of the library. Maybe with permission, because I've heard that records from the Troubles get very cranky if people in Invisibility Cloaks handle them."   
  
Hermione couldn't help smiling. Dumbledore had a way of knowing everything, and managing to keep his word, obviously, but help others at the same time. She felt very glad to see a sparkle in his eyes and felt honored to be trusted by him, Hogwarts headmaster, the most powerful wizard she'd ever known.   
  
"Thank you very much sir." she answered, "I think, now maybe, I could be a little less obliged to feel bad towards Professor Snape."   
  
"And for that, Hermione, I am very glad. There are too many people who feel the way other people's problems make them think they should. If only people felt the way they would have if not for unfortunate circumstances, then maybe there would be more happiness, or maybe even just a little more caring in the lives of the world's Professor Snapes."   
  
The Headmaster gave Hermione a smile before turning to make his way down to the dungeons, calling back as he rounded a corner.   
  
"I think it would be wise if only you knew of any information that happens to be uncovered, because I'm not entirely sure even you should be uncovering it. But I trust you Hermione, because you are a good person with an excellent mind. And if that mind has to know certain things to understand other things, then so be it. And also, I think it would be wise for you to help Mister Potter rebuild his knight."   
  
  
  


.

  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy was in his little bed in the Hospital Wing, hiding behind the curtains. Thoughts chased themselves around his head like Seekers and Snitches, he had a headache, and for the first time in his life, he had a choice to make. It wasn't like before, when his Mother chose his clothes, or his Father chose his broom. This time, he had to choose a side. And to make matters worse, one had already been chosen for him. He was disgusted at the things he'd seen, and deathly afraid of having to do them himself. He wished fervently that everything was the way it used to be. Then he wouldn't have to choose. He wouldn't even have to _feel_. Unlike right now, where Draco was alone and feeling like he'd never felt before. Feeling ashamed, afraid... and confused.   
  
  
  



End file.
